


Erase and Rewind

by sleep



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:25:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the events on the other Lost Light as the DJD enters, from Rewind's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erase and Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> Contains references/descriptions of what happened on the other Lost Light. Proceed with caution.  
> Slightly spoilery for the later Dawn of the Autobots storyline in MTMTE.  
> Not explicitly shippy, but contains mentions of Chromedome/Rewind as a couple.

At first, it all happened too fast. Far too fast.

They barely had time to react before the DJD were upon them, tearing through their numbers, somehow having slipped straight past the Lost Light’s defence systems. They were heading in a beeline towards Overlord’s slow cell – somehow shut down, somehow left bare to the open, freely transmitting Overlord’s spark signature – but they had no qualms killing anyone who got in their way. Or, after executing Overlord, killing anyone else still left alive, for that matter.

 

At some point between the eerie lack of alarms following the DJD breaching the hull of the Lost Light, and their reaching Overlord’s cell, they picked him up.   
Tiny, not built for combat, and with a camera stuck on the side of his head. They saw the camera. And they must have seen something transpiring between him and Chromedome – a glance, a gesture, something instinctive and intrinsic yelled in the midst of the panic – and they immediately understood their relationship. They wasted no time gleefully informing Rewind – most of them doing so with exquisite detail, though he had no need to understand what exactly Vos said in order to understand the meaning, each ancient syllable drenched in malice – of all the gruesome things they would do to Chromedome before killing him, unless Rewind complied to their wishes.

 

And that was when everything started happening slowly. Oh so slowly.

What they wanted Rewind to do was simple; Film. Film _everything_. Rewind was not sure if it was because they wanted to watch it again, or if the agony no doubt caused by helplessly watching all of his shipmates and friends dying – if “dying” could ever even come close to conveying the atrocious, protracted, horrifying events that transpired in the time between a member of the DJD first picked out a new individual to play with, to the moment when the victim finally, almost gratefully, left this world - was enough for them.

And so he filmed, and he watched. Every death was unique in its ghastly execution, from the terrified Tailgate, impaled and struck to a wall, dead within moments of the beam piercing his spark, to the higher officers, beaten, shot, sliced, their deaths protracted for as long as possible, before the DJD eventually got bored with their futile attempts at defending themselves and the others, and their fear no longer amused them – Drift, who could hardly keep his hands from shaking nor his voice steady when faced with every deserted Decepticon’s biggest fear, kept them entertained the longest –  they finally finished them, leaving them to bleed out, too mutilated to save themselves; A certain but slow death.

 

The members of the DJD passed Rewind around as if he was nothing more than a video-camera, holding him up to get the best angles for the different kills – it was strangely reminiscent of the earlier days before the war, when he was considered no more than a walking archive, disposable and hardly more than property, to be used however others wanted – only occasionally taking note of his horrified expression for a short burst of frightening laugh.

 

When the DJD got around to Overlord, Rewind was not sure who he should be the most angry at; The DJD, for all the horrors and deaths they had caused – and were causing – or Overlord, who was to blame for the DJD’s attack on them in particular, but who himself died quickly after the DJD realized that taunting was futile without Megatron – Overlord simply repeated “kill me” every time there was a moment of silence – or if the one currently deserving his hatred the most was the kernel of this situation; The traitor who had left them bare and opened the doors wide for the DJD, all but _inviting_ them over to do as they pleased. As the DJD left the slow cell, Rewind was painfully aware that it was irrelevant at this point.

 

Rewind wanted to shut off his optics. He really did. But what was the point? His camera was connected to his database – to his mind, his memories – so anything he filmed, he would see as clearly as if he had had his eyes open anyway. He could not even try to think of other things; Whenever he had tried to zone out from what was going on, to get lost in his database, the screams and tumult from around him would either force him back to the present, or involuntarily redirect his thoughts to the countless recordings of deaths already swarming in his database. And every time his repulsion forced him to look away, someone would be quick to snap his head back into position, while pointedly reminding him of what was at stake; Chromedome.

 

Chromedome, who, ultimately – after everyone else had had their due visit from the DJD – was the only one left alive, besides Rewind. They had said that they would let Chromedome live if Rewind filmed everything they did. Now they changed their demands a little, adding a catch; Turning to Chromedome rather than Rewind, they informed him that they would let him live, yes, but only if he erased Rewind from his memory.

Rewind was not sure _how_ they knew that Chromedome was a mnemosurgeon, but frankly, he could hardly care less. It made no difference. He knew that begging the DJD for mercy was futile, so he turned to Chromedome.

He begged. He _pleaded_. Please, _please_ ; Chromedome _had_ to do it. Do it for him!  Just erase his memories of Rewind! Having an _alive_ Chromedome who had forgotten him, though incredibly painful, was still so much better than having to watch him die! It would be infinitely worse than any of the other gruesome demises he had had to film in the last... _Who knew_ how many minutes, hours, _days_ it had been by now – it probably felt longer than it was – but Chromedome, his friend, his love, his _Conjunx Endura_ – who so often before had erased his memory to relieve the pain caused by other lost loves – met Rewind’s optics, and with a sad expression on his face, and a desperate look of resignation, could not bring himself to do it.

Time seemed to stall to a halt. The seconds stretched out like years, as Chromedome’s screams filled his ears, his defiled face filling his optics, and his whole world consisted only of Chromedome, screaming, in pain, _dying_ , until the screams waned and his optics faded away, leaving Rewind cold and empty.

Rewind ran. He ran as fast as he could, away from the monsters, the terrors, past all the mangled corpses littering every hallway and room, until he found himself next to the Magnus armour – its occupant long since removed and offlined – and crawled inside it.

 

It was not the best of hiding places. If the DJD came looking for him, they would undoubtedly find him. Rewind knew that. He curled up in a ball, audial sensors focusing on every sound, awaiting footsteps around the corner at any moment. While letting his body keep the vigil, he occupied his mind with footage from his database – glimpses of happier times, scenes from his travelogue, just quiet moments between Chromedome and himself – letting himself drift to anywhere but stashed inside the Magnus armour, awaiting death walking up to him and telling him it was his time to join the others – he could no longer tell if it would be a blessing or a curse – and he waited.

 

The hours passed.

 

He looked at his footage, and at some point, he stopped listening for footsteps.

 

He rewound his footage, and played the happier times again. He had not eaten anything in a long time. His optics had powered down without him noticing, and his limbs had gotten stiff and unwieldy a long time ago.

 

A scene from his database played in his mind, from long ago, back when he was with Dominus – was Rewind even alive anymore? He found it hard to tell. Could this possibly be what being dead was like?

 

Telling time was difficult. He submerged himself deep, deep, within the world spun by his countless recordings. He stopped feeling his body a while ago.

 

Perhaps his spark would just give up one day. It happened. He had recordings.

 

The first time he met Chromedome played before his eyes. It felt so long ago, yet so close.

 

Rodimus’ speech played. Poor guy; He barely made it a couple hours into his quest. Their quest.

 

He rewatched some of his earliest footage. Before the war. Before the functionalists. To think that it would all end here. Like this.

 

His fuel tank felt hollow. Probably because it was, he thought, before once more slipping away into his memories.

 

He saw Cybertron, during its so-called glory days. It had not been glorious for him. It felt like it was an eternity ago.

 

He rewound his footage again, and waited.

 

And waited.

 

And waited....


End file.
